


Toeing the Line

by GoodJanet



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Opening Up, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Past Abuse, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: Don calls for two hookers to help him and Lane cap off their night of fun, but when the girls cancel on them, Don improvises. Lane finds that Don is easier to get along with than he thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bi-dennisreynolds](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bi-dennisreynolds).



> “I was going to call a lady friend of mine. I'm supposed to meet her downtown.”
> 
> “Do you want her to bring a friend?’
> 
> “No, no. No, thank you.”
> 
> “What are you gonna do? We can pretend it's New Year's. It actually is.”
> 
> “If you don't mind?”
> 
> “It's the least I can do.”

Don and Lane take a quiet cab back to Don’s place. Don casually lights a cigarette and Lane takes it from him once he’s finished taking his first puff. A nerve in Don’s thigh twitches with a low level of interest that Don assumes is coming from his anticipation of seeing Candice.

“Get your own,” Don says, taking the cig back.

Lane chuckles as though this were all a game. Maybe it was. Two men approaching middle age, divorced, alone together, in the middle of the holiday season. It was a game alright, and Don knew that they were undeniably the losers.

They split the cab fare and help each other stumble up the steps to Don’s apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” Don says while grabbing the phone and dialing Candice’s agency.

Lane collapses onto his couch with a happy sigh, legs sprawling out towards the coffee table. He tenses briefly as he stretches out his limbs after being cramped in the cab, but then he loosens up once more, and his thighs spill open. 

“Hi, it’s Don. Is Candice available tonight?”

Lane perks up at that, and his head tilts against the back of the couch to listen in and watch Don make the call.

“Are you kidding me?”

Lane frowns. That wasn’t good. This whole night was supposed to be about avoiding dark, empty apartments. Don bites his lower lip in annoyance.

“You know, you don’t have a monopoly on whorehouses in New York. I can take my business elsewhere.”

Don tries to keep cool. Lane can tell. But his desperation edges in and that ultimately leads to him saying, “Fine! I will!” and smashing the receiver into the cradle. Don pours two glasses of something amber and shoves it towards Lane when he joins him on the couch.

“That didn’t sound like it went very well,” Lane says.

Don breathes a laugh.

“No it did not.”

“I suppose I should be going then. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Don gives him a look then that Lane doesn’t know how to interpret. Even rumpled and drunk, Don’s eyes were light and alive, and Lane wished he knew how he was meant to respond.

“Or perhaps you have something else in mind?” Lane asks.

Don puts his drink down, and liquid splashes onto the coffee table. He slides down the couch until their knees touched, and Lane puts his glass down too. This was getting serious.

“I don’t know about you,” Don says, putting his hand on Lane’s thigh, “but I have no interest in spending the rest of my evening, alone, with copy for _Belle Jolie_ lipsticks again.”

“You’re suggesting—?”

Rather than allowing him to finish his question, Don makes things plain by cupping the side of his face and bringing their lips together. When he meets no resistance, Don deeps the kiss, pressing Lane into the couch until he was flat on his back. Lane kicks his shoes off and properly lays himself out. Don pulls away, panting, and settles himself between Lane’s legs.

“Oh my, this—this is quite unusual,” Lane says.

Don goes in to kiss him again, but Lane braces his hands on Don’s chest. Don sighs.

“What is it? I can tell you want it. I was gonna hire a whore. I know every trick in the book. Just close your eyes and pretend my name’s Vanessa so we can both get off.”

Lane almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. But he can tell Don’s getting impatient, and while men had never held the same appeal as women for him, there was something about Don that just screamed “romance novel leading man.” There was the charm and the money and the dark hair and eyes and the brooding…and the frankly warm, welcome weight of him pressed against his cock.

“Well?”

“Yes, alright, alright,” Lane says.

“Good.”

And already his voice sounds gravellier to Lane’s ears.

Don unbuttons his shirt and unbuckles his pants with speed and ease, and Lane, sluggish with booze, struggles to follow suit. Don pushes his shorts down his thighs, and Lane gets an eyeful of what Don’s packing.

“Goodness, and your wife divorced you?” he asks. “On what grounds? Certainly not her on sexual satisfaction, I’d assume.”

Don hopes the resulting blush on his face goes unnoticed. He decides to distract Lane instead by helping him with his own trousers and shorts. Lane, he notes, fit comfortably in the grasp of his large hand. He was girthy though. It made his mouth water, and he involuntarily found himself grinding himself into Lane’s hip.

“Tell when I get to your line,” Don husks.

Lane swallows and nods as Don tries to fit them both into the grip of his hand. Lane lets out a keen that makes liquid leak from his tip, which is good because that means he wouldn’t have to stop in the middle to grab the baby oil. For a while, they’re both content with the arrangement, but Don finds himself getting restless.

He leans down to let their mouths meet once more, wet and sloppy like Don’s hands. Don kisses his cheek and neck, which Lane seems like a lot. Don follows a trail down Lane’s chest. He lets go of them to kiss his stomach and hip, waiting for Lane to tell him to stop. That he’d gone too far.

When he take Lane in his hand again, mouth poised, Lane still doesn’t stop him. They briefly make eye contact down the length of his body, and Lane says, “It’s alright. Yes, please just—”

And it’s all the permission Don needs to envelop him with his mouth and fist. He’s out of practice, but Uncle Mac made sure he learned everything the girls knew, and it all comes into proper play eventually. Lane has his arm thrown over his eyes, so whatever fantasy Don had helped create was working. And the noises he was making were incredible.

“Careful, I—I’m nearly…,” he stutters.

Briefly, Lane grips him by a hank of hair, and Don moans in pleasure around the head of his dick, and Lane finishes in his mouth. Don swallows because it’s the least messy option at this point, and when Lane’s finishes, he grabs his glass from the coffee table to kill the taste with some burning alcohol.

Lane opens his eyes then. He looks like an owl with how much he’s blinking.

“That—That was. Where did you…?”

“It’s my turn now,” Don interrupts.

Lane doesn’t need to know the details.

Don climbs up the couch again.

“What do you want me to do?” Lane asks.

He sounds so innocent and genuine that it makes something in Don’s chest hurt. It’s a dull, squeezing pain that he wants to erase immediately. He kisses Lane again, harsher than before. He grabs Lane’s hand and wraps his long fingers around his aching cock. Lane gets the idea, and it doesn’t take more than a few stokes to have Don grunting into the side of Lane’s neck and spilling into his fist.

“Good heavens,” Lane breathes, and Don lets out a sigh that feels as though it came from the tips of his toes.

Don just lies there for a moment, but eventually the mess they’ve made of each other has become too obvious an issue to continue to ignore.

“I think perhaps we should clean up, hm?”

“Right, right.”

Don pushes himself up off Lane’s body and strips out his clothes. Lane eyes him curiously. Don shrugs.

“No point in redressing, is there?”

“No,” Lane agrees, surveying the rest of Don’s body as it was exposed to him. “I suppose not.”

Don tosses Lane a rag from the floor to wipe off his hand.

“I’m gonna shower. The building doesn’t get a lot of hot water, so you’re welcome to join me.”

Lane blinks and sits up. He cleans his glasses on a clean part of his shirt. Lane is hesitant to take their antics any further, but Don doesn’t seem to be offering for a sexual reason.

“I’ll join you then. Might as well at this point.”

He laughs a little awkwardly, and Don gives him a small smile. 

“Bathroom’s this way when you’re ready.”

The shower has finally reached the perfect temper when Lane timidly opens the bathroom door. Steam curls out over the top of the curtain.

“Close the door. You’re letting the air out,” Don says.

Lane hurries to do so. Then he is left standing there in all his nakedness, wondering which decision in his life had led him to choosing going down this path with Don.

“It’s a little too late to be shy _now_ ,” Don teases.

Lane smiles.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. This is all just so surreal.”

Lane climbs into the mist, and his glasses fog over.

“Oh dear.”

He takes them off and carefully places them on the shelf where Don keeps various bottles of product, including a toothbrush and paste. Which made sense, considering.

“Soap?” Don asks, holding out a purple bar.

Lane takes it, incredulous.

“How are you so cavalier about all this?” Lane blurts.

Don sighs.

“Because I’m too sick and tired of there being so many rules and protocols and taboos that when I finally meet someone who will let me be me, I tend to let my guard down and not let what someone else thinks bother me to the point of paralysis.”

This was obviously something Don had put a lot of thought into. And Lane assumes that if Don is sharing this information with him, then must be on that short list of people Don can allow himself to be comfortable around.

“Today is very strange.”

“Is that a good thing?” Don asks, wary.

Soap and water sluices down his broad chest and muscular legs before circling the drain and disappearing. Lane looks back up from the porcelain basin and into Don’s hazel eyes.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good,” Don rasps.

He reaches for the bottle of Old Spice shampoo and his hand brushes Lane’s arm on his way over.

“Here. Let’s trade place so you can wash up before the water goes cold.”

Carefully, they sidestep until Lane is under the welcoming spray. He shivers and sighs in delight. It makes Don smile, and some of the lingering awkwardness washes away with the bubbles. The soap feels good on his skin, and it smells faintly of lavender. Perhaps it belonged to Candice.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Lane says as they swap positions again.

“What’s that?” Don asks.

“Well, why me? I know for a fact I wasn’t your first choice. I would’ve assumed that my equipment, so to speak, would’ve been all wrong for you.”

“Well, I’ve never been one to be picky. Grew up in small town. It’s slim pickings. Then there was the army. Not a lot of skirts there either. And you’re not a big mouth.”

There’s an edge of warning in his voice when he says that that Lane reads loud and clear.

“I understand.”

“And what about you? It’s not like you put up a fight out there. Switch again; you’re shivering.”

“There’s no need to be defensive. I grew up in boarding schools. Boys only boarding schools. I couldn’t rightly shag the librarian.”

“Because you’d be expelled?”

“Because she was geriatric!”

Don laughs out loud at that. It’s warm and full and bounces of the tiles in a way that makes Lane wish he could stay in this moment for forever. Lane finds himself joining in.

The laughter is cut short when a blast of cold hits him in the back, and he gasps at the shock.

“Come on. Let me get you some pajamas. They might be a bit long,” Don says, reaching out to turn off the taps.

Lane shivers in earnest.

“That would be lovely.”

Don was correct. The pants were a bit long, but otherwise everything fit just fine.

“I can give you a shirt in the morning, but you’re going to have to wear your suit. Will you have time to change before work starts?”

“I think I’ve earned a late start, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so.”

Don stretches and climbs into bed. Lane remains standing in the doorway. He looks over his shoulder at the disheveled couch.

“Coming to bed, dear?” Don asks around a cigarette in his mouth. He already had his side table light on with the newspaper in his lap.

“If you don’t mind…?”

“Are you kidding? This is where you’re drawing the line?”

Lane chuckles softly.

“No,” he says, stepping into the room. “Why stop now?”

With some hesitance, he pulls down the blanket and top sheet and slips under the covers. He rests his back against the headboard, and Don hands him the sections of the paper he already read. Lane opens the sport’s section.

“We did everything all backwards today didn’t we?” Lane asks as his eyes scan over the results of some boxing matches he had money on.

“Mhmm,” Don mumbles.

He turns a page.

“Obviously, we can’t…continue this.” Don looks away from the paper. “But I just wanted to tell you that this whole evening has been wonderful, and I’m very grateful to you.”

Lane swallows, hoping he didn’t ruin everything by stating his feelings aloud.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Don says.

He reaches out a hand and pats Lane’s shoulder. It was reassuring. It made Lane feel as though whatever happened once they entered the office in the morning that he and Don would always be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 60th _Mad Men_ fic!!!


End file.
